Ballads (Masefield, 1903)/Dawn

For works with similar titles, see Dawn.
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Dawn

The dawn comes cold: the haystack smokes,The green twigs crackle in the fire,The dew is dripping from the oaks,And sleepy men bear milking-yokesSlowly towards the cattle-byre.
Down in the town a clock strikes six,The grey east heaven burns and glows,The dew shines on the thatch of ricks,A slow old crone comes gathering sticks,The red cock in the ox-yard crows.
Beyond the stack where we have lainThe road runs twisted like a snake(The white road to the land of Spain),The road that we must foot again,Though the feet halt and the heart ache.
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